Page 3 of Effortless

Tom?

Less than zero at the moment.

“You know what,” Adriano said, “I can handle this myself today, Tom. Take the day off. Go do something else for a while.”

“I can do what—”

“It’s not your choice to make. I don’t need you here in a bad mood, and halfway to kicking somebody’s ass. Two boosted trucks are supposed to keep those fools busy. I’ll put Lou in charge of watching them.”

“Lou’s good,” Tom said with a nod.

“Yeah, I know. One fool, I might not mind letting get somewhere in this business of ours.” Adriano flicked his hand toward the door. “Get. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Tom pushed up from the chair and exited the office without a goodbye. Adriano wouldn’t want one, anyway. He made it halfway across the warehouse, nearly to the front entrance doors, when another insult came hurling his way.

He didn’t even know what the guy said.

He barely heard it well enough.

Tommaso should have let it go.

It took a single spin of his shoes against the cement floor, and five long strides before his fist crashed into the guy’s face. Jake, or some equally generic name that could be forgotten. The crunch of bone smashed against Tom’s knuckles.

Something akin to relief settled through Tom. The teasing feeling skimmed along his now bruised and bloody knuckles, but it didn’t reach where he needed it the most. It still wasn’t enough. He reared back and punched the guy again.

All the while, Tom never said a word. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t have shit to say, just a damn point to make.

They thought he was some weak-ass rich fuck who couldn’t go toe-to-toe with them on anything, certainly not on the streets.

Tom had news for them.

He fixed his jacket as he walked away, but a form caught his eye in the office doorway. Adriano leaned against the doorjamb, and shook his head once.

“Go see the boss,” he heard his uncle say. “A day off will not be enough, Tom.”

What in the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Where’s Sara and Rebeka?” Tom asked.

Tommas, his father, worked on lighting the cigar in his mouth as he spoke. “At school, Tom. It’s the middle of September.”

Ah, yeah, shit.

Usually his little sisters would be tearing up a storm in the house. Sara was almost a decade younger than him, and Rebeka, twelve years younger. He tried to make time for them, when he could, but work kept him away from the Trentini mansion far more often than he was inside.

“Are you going to stand in the doorway and draw attention all day, or sit down?” his father asked.

Tom took a seat in one of the bucket chairs across from his father’s desk. For a long while, the two sat in silence. Tom, lost in his thoughts and irritation. And Tommas, puffing on a cigar that would likely have his wife barking at him later.

Some shit just never changed.

Tom liked it when it was just him and his dad like this, though. His mother used to call them twins, as their behaviors, habits, and features mirrored back at one another more often than not. By the time Tom was seventeen, he stood eye-level with his father at six-foot-two. He shared his father’s chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones. The squared chin, strong nose, and blue-gray eyes. He had once worn his dark brown hair a bit longer, but now opted to have it cut short, while his father’s was peppered with a bit of gray at the temples. Their smiles were more smirks or grins than anything else.

“Adriano called,” his father said.

“What, like a little tattletale? Am I going to get punished by my dad now because I got pissed off, and let it show?”

A chuckle echoed from across the way.